


Future

by orphan_account



Category: An Inspector Calls - Priestley
Genre: Angst, F/M, Gen, idk - Freeform, what even
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-18
Updated: 2017-09-18
Packaged: 2018-12-31 09:59:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12130017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Apparently I now find writing fanfic for the play I'm studying a good use of my time. Whatever I'll call it revision. Enjoy I guess





	Future

Sheila lay staring at the vast white ceiling, listening to the tick of her clock, her mind numb. She had barely been able to sleep since The Inspector called five days ago.

Well, he wasn't really an inspector, but that's who he was in her mind. The Inspector. The thought of his cold, knowing stare and sharp, violent voice made her shiver even now. Who was he? How did he know the poor girl was going to kill herself? Why didn't he stop her? Was he even a real person? The questions flew around in her mind, refusing to let her rest.

The second inspector that came didn't really matter - everyone was so shaken up by the first they confessed almost immediately. Sheila was first. She'd spluttered out every last detail through hysterical sobs, muttering sorry over and over to herself once she'd finished. The worst part? The inspector barely acknowledged her part in the tragedy, as if she was hardly to blame. Well, she was, and she was going to live with that blame for the rest of her life.

Eric went second. The way he recited what he had done, numb and robotic, was almost worse than Sheila's hysteria. It was as if all his emotions had built up inside of him until they exploded, ripping him apart and leaving nothing left but rubble.

There was no point in anyone trying to deny their part in it once Eric had said what he had to. It was clear to the inspector - a plain, ordinary police inspector, nothing like The Inspector - that he was the villain of the story. It seemed that it was clear to Eric, too.

Dragging herself out of those painful memories, Sheila sat up, scanning the wall for the clock.1 o'clock in the morning. Almost precisely.With a sigh she lay back down, then froze as she heard a series of loud crashes coming from downstairs, swiftly followed by a string of colourful, slightly slurred curse words.

_Oh no._

Tentatively, Sheila crept out of her room and down the stairs, cringing whenever one let out a tell-tale creak. Peering over the bannister into the dining room, her heart sank.

Eric was leaning heavily against the cabinet, a bottle of whisky in his hand and a smashed bottle of gin lying abandoned on the floor. As he took a swig straight from the bottle, his face caught the light and Sheila truly saw for the first time in five days how truly terrible he looked; his hair was sticking out in any direction it pleased, and his clothes - the same clothes he'd been wearing during the day, clearly he wasn't planning on trying to sleep at all - hung off him like rags. His face was pale and drawn, and the dark, almost violently purple rings under his eyes - as if he'd been punched in both of them - only highlighted the fact that his eyes, that once glimmered with the excitement of youth and the prospect of a future, now seemed sad and lifeless. Sheila shuddered. How had he changed so much in just five days? There was no future in her brother's eyes.

No longer bothering to be quiet, Sheila made her way into the dining room towards Eric, who either didn't notice her, or didn't care enough to turn to face her.

"Eric?"

"Please go away."

"Eric, you haven't slept or eaten for a week. You need to-"

"I said, go away."

The crack in his voice hung in the air for a moment as Sheila struggled to find the right words.

"Eric... you've got to stop this. This... it isn't going to help Eva. I wish it could. I know how guilty you feel, I feel the same, and I would do anything to change what happened-"She cut short as she felt a sob building up in her throat, but Eric lunged in anyway, swinging around to face her and almost toppling over. His once rosy cheeks almost looked skeletal.

"You're guilty? You of all people? You complained about an employee. You behaved like a spoilt brat for a moment. It happens. But do you know what I did, Sheila? Do you want to know what I did to her?"

He was looking up at her now, a hysterical, pained grin that didn't fit the moment at all slapped onto his face. Despite Sheila's tears and desperate head shaking, he continued, raising his voice as if it would stop it from wavering.

"I killed her, Sheila. I took advantage of her, then stole some money because I'm too much of a useless ass to get my own, then abandoned her, and killed her. I killed her and my child."        

"Eric, mother and father will wake up-"                                        

"I don't care! I don't care anymore. I murdered them. Did you here that? I MURDERED THEM!"

At this point Eric sank down into a chair, shaking uncontrollably. He couldn't hold back the tears any longer as the realisation of what he'd done swept over him in tidal waves. That was the worst part of it. No matter how many times he realised it, he'd always have to go back, to relive it and realise it again and again. He was trapped.

"If I could swap places with them, I would. In a heartbeat. If killing myself would bring them back I'd be gone in seconds."

Sheila was trapped too. Half of her wanted to hug her brother close and promise that it wasn't his fault, that everyone was to blame, that he didn't murder her - them. But the other half agreed with him. That half was almost glad he accepted the blame. Nevertheless, he shouldn't have the burden all to himself.

 _It was all of us,_ she reminded herself. _We all killed her. A gang of criminals._

She was awoken from her dilemma by the cacophony of two pairs of feet thundering heavily down the stairs.

_Crap._

"What in the devil is going on here?" Arthur Birling practically bellowed, his large face unnaturally red. Sheila and Eric didn't even flinch. They would have, five days ago.

"Your father asked you a question!" The past five days changed Sybil Birling immensely. Although she attempted to carry on as normal, she now jumped at a knock at the door, nervously scanned newspapers over and over every day, and hardly ever showed her face in public - much to the curiosity of the neighbours. Most importantly, she couldn't look her son in the eye.

"Do you think it would have been a boy or a girl?"Eric's voice was now quiet and raw, the voice of someone who'd yelled and cried and drunk for five days and has nothing left to give. Arthur spluttered, struggling to remain composed.

"Oh, f-for heaven's sake, boy!"

"If it was a girl we'd name her after her mother, of course - that is, if her mother would trust me enough to tell me her real name. But I'm not sure if it was a boy. I certainly wouldn't want him to be named after me. Or you, father. We don't deserve that."

Sheila ran over to her brother, grabbing both his hands and kneeling next to him, practically begging."Please, Eric, stop saying such things. I can't bear it!"

"Sheila dear, you need to go to bed." Sybil's voice was a little too high and clipped to be normal.But Sheila wasn't done. She kept her eyes fastened on her brother, a mix of determination and sadness flooding them.

"Do you remember what The Inspector said before he left? He said there are millions and millions of Eva Smiths and John Smiths out there. We didn't help Eva but we can help them."

Eric took a deep, shaky breath. "I don't know how. I couldn't save one. The one who came to me for help. I couldn't save my own child. How am I meant to help millions of others?"

Mr and Mrs Birling had gone silent. Arthur was shaking his head slightly at the ridiculousness of it, both his children so acting hysterical over nothing in the middle of the night. A part of him was concerned for them, but he did his best to not let it seep through. Sheila was getting worked up about nothing and Eric - well, he didn't have the right to be upset. It was his own stupid fault after all.

With her new found determination, Sheila held Eric's hands in a death grip, her gaze never wavering."You can do it. We'll do it together. We'll work it out, and we'll change the lives of all the Eva Smiths in the world."

Something resembling a smile flickered from one sibling's face to the other.

"Children," Sybil began, sounding a lot more like her old self. "You're having delusions of grandeur. You're tired and hysterical - and you, Eric, are far too drunk for any occasion, let alone by yourself in the middle of the night." (Despite all the revelations The Inspector's visit brought, Sybil still remained quite determined to see Eric as a young, innocent child.) "Come on, to bed. Now."

And the siblings didn't argue. But as the broken family trudged up the stairs in single file, there was a sort of future in the eyes of Sheila and Eric. A future not just for them, but for everyone.


End file.
